Brendan
Dean drew in a faint, shallow breath around the stabbing pain in his
stomach. He might have groaned; he wasn't sure.

The
second thing he was aware of was a gentle hand resting on his
forehead, thumb stroking just over his right eyebrow. Freya?
he wondered and then prayed he hadn't said her name out loud. The
last thing they needed to do was find out about her and he had to...
"Mmnohhh..."

"Brendan?
Agent Dean?"

The
voice was unfamiliar, and Brendan frowned faintly. It wasn't
Freya, and it wasn't one of their 'hosts.' Slowly, he dragged
his eyes open and looked up. A slender redhead was standing next to
him, wearing a lab coat. A doctor...? Here?

"Where...?"
he tried to lift his head; the room spun lazily and his stomach
fairly screamed at him and his head dropped back onto the pillow.

"Ms.
McAlister is out in the waiting room. She's fine," Johansson
reassured. It was all Brendan needed to know, for now. He wasn't
certain, in this moment, how everything had gone so wrong. Somehow
their cover had been blown, that was obvious. Everything else was
lost in a haze of dizziness and pain. They must've gotten out but
how? Hazel eyes blinked dazedly. "How are you feeling?"
Johansson's hand had moved from his forehead; she was taking his
pulse.

"We'll
get you something for the pain, just try to rest. You are
doing much better than when you were first brought in. Do you
remember what happened?"

"Party..."
Brendan struggled to put it all together. He and Freya had been
undercover at a party.

"Someone
spiked your drink. You're lucky your partner out there got you
here so quickly; another half hour or so and we wouldn't be having
this conversation," Johansson informed him. "I know you don't
feel
so lucky, but the stomach pains will ease." She reached over and
brushed back a wayward strand of dark hair. "Try to rest."

Hazel
eyes obediently closed. He was just too exhausted and his stomach
ached far too badly to argue. He'd save that for later, when he
wanted out of bed. This
is the last time...I volunteer for an undercover gig, I swear.

"Don't
make promises you can't keep," a soft voice said.

Freya.

Brendan
blinked open his eyes, realized it was nearly dusk. Felt rather than
saw the shadowy presence next to him. "How
long...?"

"Almost
five hours," Freya answered and leaned forward into his line of
vision, smiling. "Feeling better?"

"We
were sold out, and I have a pretty good idea who did the selling.
I'm going to talk to Harper about it; but for now, all you have to
do is get better. Go back to sleep," Freya urged gently. Being a
telepath had its advantages at times, and she could tell Brendan
still wasn't feeling fantastic, although he apparently was
telling the truth about feeling better. No wonder; they had come
very close to losing him today.

"'Kay..."
Dean agreed and allowed himself to drift, but before he fell asleep
totally he was aware of long, thin fingers intertwining with his own.

He
knew then, he really was going to be all right.

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